All Things Matrimonial
by windwaltz410
Summary: For the Darcy sisters, 'A season in London' means dancing, romance, heartbreak, love - and ultimately, matrimony!  Read and review!


_Disclaimer:__I__am_**not**_Jane__Austen.__Sadly._

_Sorry about the delay in posting! I changed several details in this chapter – PLEASE give me feedback concerning these changes. Remember, we writers feed on reviews!_

_Fionina: Thanks so much for reviewing! I have given thought to the character's names and decided that a Jane would be in order! :D _

"My dear Mr. Darcy," said his lady to him one evening, "I have a letter."

"And what tidings does this letter bring?" said he, laying down his paper.

"What would you say, Fitzwilliam, of London?" said she slowly, as if on the verge of communicating some precarious thought.

"Of London? A wretched place, Lizzie; the very pitch of misery," said Mr. Darcy gravely. "Of London? – an abominable city! Corrupted, corruptible, full of snares, schemes, felony, _balls_. Why do you ask, Mrs. Darcy?"

"What would you say, Fitzwilliam, of a _season_in London?" continued Lizzie, smilingly.

"By no means."

"London is not all about balls. There is feasting, the sight of finer eyes in finer faces, drinking, merry-making, strolling in streets far finer than the ones in this county, far less taxing on one's breath, exhibiting one's health and one's fine looks (as I am sure you delight in doing, Mr. Darcy) in the Pump-rooms and the Museums and the Ball-Rooms, bettering one's wits and faculties as is quite impossible at Pemberley, where one is enamored of dull servants and a duller wife. Of course, I say nothing of the girls. _They_may speak for themselves."

"I thought you were above the telling of falsehoods, Lizzie. It seems that I am deceived. It seems, too, that there is no particle of affection remaining between us. And yet, daily we are told this is a felicitous union."

"Indeed there can be no felicity in this union," said Lizzie, "if you refuse your lady the simplest pleasure."

"Simple? A season in London?"

"Simple indeed, Mr. Darcy."

"You know I detest dancing, and yet _you_persist in persuading me to grant myself a season of misery. Dancing is little more than the lowest form of entertainment, a contemptible _sport_. And you, you who affect to _like_me, believe yourself thwarted and pitiable while _I_cannot even hear the very mention of London without quailing."

"And yet," quoth Lizzie slyly, "if we had not danced, you would have obtained little pleasure from a pair of fine eyes afar off."

"I am undone in the face of _your_wit," returned Mr. Darcy. "Who is to say that I have a dull wife? Very well," said he, sighing, "proceed, Mrs. Darcy."

"Bingley and Jane are already in London, and we are invited to join them at Kingswood."

"Bingley and your sister are too amiable to realize the wiles of London society, the misery of London," replied Mr. Darcy. "They see only the pleasure of a season. They are far too amiable to understand expenditure."

"They are too amiable to exclude you from the invitation," said Mrs. Darcy imperturbably, "but they do propose that the girls and I join them first, to spare you some weeks of this misery that you speak of."

"Unchaperoned? With Eleanor? No, Lizzie. Upon that matter, I will never give my consent."

"You object to Eleanor joining us?"

"She is far too pretty to go unchaperoned by _myself_," said he grimly, "and far too silly. Her eyes are really as fine as yours, Lizzie, but she has little of your wit, and that is a pity."

"For that matter, you cannot distinguish your other daughters in any way–"

"They have more sense, Lizzie. And Anne, while she has wit, is in no danger at all since she is possessed of little boldness."

"And Jane does not fancy dancing, or needlework, or suitors – or any of the numerous pleasures or accomplishments of a gentlewoman, I suppose, so she has _sense_ by your definition."

"She is a fine horsewoman."

"I have yet to learn how that is an exhibition of sense. Of skill, perhaps. I would have you consider, Fitzwilliam, that Eleanor may be as silly as you represent her to be, but she has sense enough to possess the pride, and the prejudices, which_you_, my dear Mr. Darcy, possess. And that, I am sure, will be _her_restraint."

"To London, then, all of you, and I have nothing more to say. Only," and here he smiled, with little semblance of gravity, "Only this, my dear Lizzie, that I am heartily grateful that I have but three daughters."

"And the good fortune to be blest with a son."

"You forget yourself, Mrs. Darcy. And our meeting, on a certain occasion, at a certain place," said he, laughing. "_That_was certainly more than good fortune alone."


End file.
